


Those with Wings Drabbles

by FireDragon1321



Series: Those with Wings AU [4]
Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Highschool DxD (Anime), Multi-Fandom, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: AU- Those with Wings, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Drabbles, Fantasy Violence, Gen, Non-Graphic Sexual Content, Rating Varies with Ficlet, Triggers Vary with Ficlet, Used All the Archive Warnings that May Apply to Any Entry, Wingfic, more tags may be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireDragon1321/pseuds/FireDragon1321
Summary: There is a world where all of fiction exists. In that world, real people are king, and fiction is merely a toy. These are the stories of some of the people living in this world, if you care to read them.A bunch of random drabbles for the Those with Wings AU. That's about it. Stories are rated either General, Teen, or Mature. Rating, fandom and content warnings will be put before the story. Ratings and fandoms will also be found in chapter name.





	1. Failure (Digimon, Gen)

**Author's Note:**

> So this may require reading a short story to fully understand, which takes about five/ten minutes to finish and can be found here-https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828504/chapters/34317113. If you don't wanna read that, here's the lowdown- this is a world where multiple different versions of fictional characters are real and many of them have special powers, but real people are still in charge, and use them for their own pleasure. There is, of course, a rebellion standing up to the Dealers- or human oppressors who run the show- and these two factions are at war. Because of the mere premise, future installments may contain violence and/or sexual content. Just make sure to read each chapter's rating and warnings to see what's in it.
> 
> All copyrighted characters are not mine, yada yada.
> 
> Rating- Gen  
> Fandom- Digimon  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Post-transformation, inanimate TF, based on a drabble on dA, angst, sad, there ain’t a happily ever after here folks  
> Challenge- 1000 words or less

There was no reason to be here.  
He was a Tai, but no ordinary Tai. He was the Firedrake- the most feared rebel character of them all. One blast of his fire-breath could decimate entire armies of low-level goons. His claws could tear flesh like tissue paper. It was war-time, and these abilities were required for not just the sake of the oppressed characters he rescued, but his own survival.  
He had no time to stand around in an abandoned carnival on some long-forgotten corner of the fictional realms. But here he was, in front of a wooden relief. There were eight toys at the bottom- soft and cuddly. Their names rumbled in his head. Agumon, Gabumon, Gatomon, Biyomon, Tentomon, Palmon, Patamon, Gomamon, Agumon.  
Well, there was only one Agumon, but he couldn’t help but count his old friend twice.  
Above the toys- sitting on the relief- were eight dolls with smiling, cherubic faces. They were faces he knew well, from before he knew better. Sometimes he rescued those who bore those faces. Sometimes, he failed. Hey- nobody’s perfect, not even a so-called living weapon.  
He didn’t want to look at the Kari doll. He failed her- that much he knew. He didn’t need that forever-frozen face to remind him. Nor did he want to look at the TK doll, for that was another failure of not just TK, but his older brother. Matt, Sora, Izzy- all close friends. He failed them, too. Mimi and Joe were of course present, and- though he wasn’t as close to them- the pain of failure still stung him. Even after all these years, he couldn’t stand his own failure.  
So he took the only doll he could bear to look at- his own.  
This was another Tai. This was another being like him. What was hidden behind that smile? Was the little toy brainwashed, thinking only happy thoughts? Was there a voice screaming in despair he couldn’t hear? Was there simply nothing- all of who he was erased by a twisted transformation?  
Tai could tell these were transformed people and Digimon, even though the culprit was long gone. He’d been doing this long enough to sense it as easily as he could see the doll or feel the wind occasionally ruffle his hair.  
How many years was it since he started? Thinking back, it had to be ten years now. An entire decade- wasted on this never-ending battle. He took a deep breath. Most characters didn’t even live to see their tenth birthday, and here he was, due to be twenty at the end of this July. Meanwhile, the less fortunate ended up dead, or- like this one- a toy on a shelf with a painted on smile.  
For the dead, for the transformed, for the lost- there was nothing he could do. All the power in the world couldn’t help.  
The Firedrake took a deep breath. He gently placed the cherub back on the shelf. Then he turned and ran. He didn’t dare look back. He didn’t dare cry.


	2. To Be Corrupted (Pokemon, Mature)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I wasn't gonna publish this filth, but I changed my mind. Gonna do it anyway, just to get the content to match the rating.
> 
> Rating- Mature  
> Fandom- Pokemon  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Corruption, seduction, dub-con, non-graphic sex, somewhat graphic fooling around (i.e.- awkwardly-written lime)  
> Challenge- No dialogue

There were things he had to do. Very important things.  
This was something he was well aware of, even though his brother felt the need to screech it again and again at him. “Brother” was an interesting term, considering they were the same species of character, and therefore the same person. They were both called “Wes”. Same face, same memories from the faraway land called “canon”. So what if he had the ears and tail of an Umbreon and his brother had Esepon features? They were still the same person.  
Kind of.  
He never felt out of synch with his brother until now, slammed into the wet desert sand, his brother looming over him, rain trickling into his eyes. This occurrence was so rare that all he could do was lay there and growl and fucking take it, even though he wanted to reverse their roles and scream, pinning his brother to the ground like he was now.  
From a safe distance away, Michael watched silently, Eevee ears perked up, but wings and tail both drooping. The boy’s safety was a hot topic, and he kept hearing the boy’s name interspersed with the crap his brother was shouting. They had to protect Michael. What would happen to him if the Dealers got him? He wouldn’t last long.  
They’d been protecting him for too long.  
The events leading up to this confrontation were innocent, yet too sinful to be innocent at the same time. Michael wandered off, and the two followed him. He led them to this desert where rain always fell. It was Orre only in name. Some human slapped the title on this place, but it was just a shadow of Orre, where shadows of its people lived.  
Michael stopped suddenly, confusing the twins for a moment or two. But it wasn’t hard to see why on closer inspection. The Dealers were out and about, which wasn’t too surprising since they made this place. Their cameras were pointed at a pair of characters. These two! Their actions were too rough for lovemaking, too gentle for fucking, but it was clear to even a blind person what they were doing from the cries that interspersed with thunder from the heavens.  
His brother had called out for Michael to get back. Mistake! The Dealers noticed them and turned off their cameras, motioning for the couple to separate. Two pairs of blood-red eyes gazed back at them. They knew the faces. The girl was Rui- a girl that haunted their canonical memories. The boy was, well, another Wes.  
Their glowing red eyes were concerning. They were no ordinary characters. These two were Feral- infected by lust until it was all they thought about. The disease spread through ingesting an infected character’s DNA, or through having sex with them. The humans- two of them, both males- pointed and smirked. It was clear that they wanted to add the three of them to their Feral debauchery.  
Michael was having none of that and stood his ground. A twelve- or perhaps fifteen- minute long brawl broke out, which the twins were naturally roped into. Attacks flung through the air, striking and missing as they tend to do. The thunder of the eternal storm served as much better background music to this rumble than it did the sex the humans craved so much.  
Eventually, Michael was sent soaring through the air by the Feral Wes. He landed in a small sand dune. Out of the two brothers, it was the Espeon-eared one who went to his aid.  
That’s the way he was. Always looking out for the others. Always so fucking responsible.  
While those two were away, the Feral Rui licked her lips. With a hand wave, she got the Feral Wes to stalk towards the sand dune. It was now just him and her. He growled- low, threatening, telling her to back the hell off. She ignored the warning and advanced on him. With no effort- or perhaps the drive of an eternally horny woman- she pushed him to the ground.   
He wriggled around like a caterpillar trying to escape, knowing what would happen if she went much further. She wasn’t wearing anything, and it would be all too easy to open up his pants. He looked to his left- where Michael had gone- to find his brother and ward were occupied with the Feral Wes, too busy fighting him to pay any attention to what was going on.  
He was about to scream, but she put a finger to his lips. He growled again. Why were his ears- no, his entire face- on fire? Was he blushing?  
Fuck.  
He continued to put up a feeble resistance as she quickly pulled down his pants- just as he knew she would. With a grunt, he used his Mist technique. He’d been spamming it, but now he figured it could help confuse her and give him a chance to flee. White, harmless mist floated around the two. He jerked his leg as she stopped to study the mist, trying to knock her off. This had the opposite effect as intended, and she held even faster.  
He was probably a pathetic sight- ears pinned back, blushing furiously, ripe for the taking. Part of it was raw humiliation from the fact that this girl canonically needed his help to escape from two dunderheaded goons. Now, she was at the command of two different dunderheaded goons, ready to drag him unwillingly into the fold. The whole situation was infuriating, arousing, embaras-  
Wait, what?  
No, there was nothing arousing about this. At all. His whole body wasn’t preparing itself to have sex with this girl- a dear friend and stranger all at once. This was so many levels of wrong, and yet a part of him wanted her to just hurry it up and get it over-with instead of running her hands on his chest. He knew her game, and he knew what would become of him at the end of it. He was fucked in multiple different ways. There was no reason to drag it out.  
Where were his allies? He heard the cries of battle behind him and realized they were too busy playing with the other Feral character to pay him half a second’s worth of attention. Meanwhile, her hands began traveling lower. He grumbled incoherently.  
Just do it already, for the Gods’ sakes!  
Her hands stopped on his stomach, inching ever closer to her goal. She gazed at him smokily, seeing that he had all but given up resisting. He closed his eyes. Would it hurt, he wondered, as his entire brain exploded with pleasure, taking every other emotion, goal and personality trait with it? Would it hurt becoming a being of pure lust, or was that just something he made up? He had to admit that the idea was starting to become a little appealing on some level, if only because he didn’t know what it would be like. After all, he never experienced becoming a sex-crazed drone.  
First time for everything, he supposed.  
Except not. Because just as she was about to touch him in his most private of places, she turned and purred lustily. He wrinkled his nose in confusion. Why was she not paying him the attention he needed anymore? As he opened his eyes to find out, she leapt of of him and at his brother, who finally realized what was going on and came to the rescue. Before she could subject his brother to the same temptation, Michael snuck up behind her and tackled her as hard as he could. Startled by the sneak attack, she crumpled to the ground.  
Time seemed to move on fuzzily for a few seconds. He was faintly aware that the humans called for their pets to retreat. He heard something about them “continuing this later”. In all honesty, he didn’t need to hear the rest. The game was over, and he just lay in the wet sand, his most private part still exposed and vulnerable. He wondered if another human and their Feral character would pass by and give him relief, or at least satisfy his curiosity.  
What was it like to be corrupted?  
His brother turned and saw him in this state. Oh, he tried to explain, but his brother’s empathy turned to fury at his explanation. His twin didn’t want to hear that he “gave up” and pinned him, leading to their current predicament. Hilariously, his brother was so mad that he didn’t think to protect his twin’s modesty.  
In the present, Michael finally worked up the courage to get closer. The Espeon brother shot him a glare that could kill puppies. Michael got the message- stay back, this is none of your business- and retreated, looking up at the rain instead like it was some kind of interesting new phenomenon. Eventually, his brother’s voice got hoarse from screaming, his breathing ragged. He got off of him in disgust and walked away to guard Michael, which he considered the most important job in the entire goddamn worlds.  
It took a bit for him to rise. The rings around his ears and tail glowed ever so faintly as he got to his feet. He put himself away only as an afterthought. Sighing, he followed his brother and charge out of the rain, tail dragging and doodling idle patterns in the sand.  
He still craved more. He still wanted to know how it felt the moment he died and a lustful template took his place. But it was a fantasy that would remain such. It had to, because he had jobs. It was more important to keep Michael alive and his brother comfortable. But he could feel the ghost of handprints on and under his shirt- wet, wanting, calling him into irredeemable darkness.


	3. good boy (Tales of Zestiria, Mature)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More filth I wasn't going to publish, but I changed my mind. I was gonna make this its own story, but it probably belongs in the Drabble Sin Bin.
> 
> Rating- Mature  
> Fandom- Tales of Zestiria  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Rape, abusive relationship, "human pet"/objectification, blood, identity crisis, technical mindbreak  
> Challenge- None

He crouched in the cage Master condemned him to when he wasn’t home. He couldn’t leave unless Master wished it. It was a rule. He knew his name was “Sorey”, but Master called him “pet”. He existed for Master’s pleasure. That was also a rule. Rules could not be broken.  
The cage door opened and Master dragged him out. He let Master be as rough as he wished. After all, he was just a pet. He was a good pet that did whatever his Master told him. Sometimes, the landlord would get upset on nights like tonight, when he was used. He had to stay quiet. That- of course- was another rule.  
Sometimes, he wanted to hear his name when Master claimed him. But he didn’t voice it. He just repeated what Master wanted to hear in hushed whispers, like a parrot. Master liked that, for he’d reward him with more pleasure. Other characters were shattered by this kind of treatment- reduced to crying wrecks who were eventually discarded. But he was able to stay strong through it all. In fact, he kind of liked being used like a toy.  
This was why he was so conflicted.  
He was made to be a hero. He was created to help people. Well, wasn’t this helping people in a way? He was making his Master happy. But it wasn’t really being a hero. Master called him “pet”. Others called him “slut” or “whore”. No-one called him “hero”. No-one but his first human. No-one but her.  
By the end of the session with his Master, he hurt everywhere. Master would leave him on the bed- a wretched mess. He would get a bath in the morning, because Master wanted to go to bed now. He lay there, a bundle of pain and pleasure, as he began to fall asleep too. The last thing he heard was his Master’s voice.  
“Good boy.”

\----------------------------------------

When he slept, he often dreamed of a world hundreds of lifetimes away.  
He held a sword in his hand. The cloak he wore was a symbol of his heroism, as well as his purity. Around him, other heroes bellowed battle cries as they charged villains.  
The villains were all people like Master.  
He hacked and slashed through armies of monsters with the skill and grace of a professional swordsman. If he was awake, would he even remember how to use a sword to begin with? It didn’t really matter, because this was just a dream.   
He felled the last monster, and he could see what he came for. Two characters like him were locked in an embrace, doing things he and Master would do. One was crying, his nose gooey with snot and tears running down his reddened cheeks. The other was like Master- strong, proud and not caring about the tears.  
For a minute, he didn’t know what to do. That character who was crying needed his help. That much was certain. But was he really a hero? Could he really save this poor soul? As he mused, he could hear her voice- reassuring but serious.  
“Free him,” she said.  
He did. His sword came down- the flat end, of course. It was not his intention to kill the character that was not crying- only to stop him. That didn’t mean there was no blood. There was. There was blood all over his white cloak from the monsters. There was blood as the other character screamed in pain. He dropped his sword, knelt down, pulled the fallen one off of the one who was crying.  
It was over. He won. The sobbing character lulled himself to sleep, perhaps to escape the violence around him. He did it, but at what cost? The character he felled- rapist, she would call him- would be taken back home and held captive behind iron bars. The one who slept on the ground before him would receive loving care, nursed gently to health until he could fend for himself.   
That didn’t seem fair to him. Wasn’t a hero supposed to protect everyone?  
He shook and began to cry a bit himself. He could feel her hand on his shoulder, heard her speak.  
“Good boy.”

\----------------------------------------

He woke up, still in Master’s bed, still dirty. Master was still asleep, snoring softly.  
This gave him some time to think. His name was Sorey. His name was “pet”. He was a hero. He was a slut. He saved people. He serviced Master. He stopped rapists. He enjoyed pain and pleasure.  
Just what was he? Not even he knew any more.  
Master began to stir. He sighed. The sun was rising, and it was a new day. In the end, it didn’t matter what he really was, who he served, what he believed in.  
No matter what, he was a good boy.


	4. Vicious (Highschool DxD, Teen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a low Mature, but all the bad stuff is implied more than shown or only mentioned in one line. So Teen it is! Just read the warnings.
> 
> Rating- Teen  
> Fandom- Highschool DxD  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Feral behavior/mindbreak, abuse, unhealthy platonic relationship, mention of rape/sexual assault attempts, mention of blood/violence/death, mention of urine/feces, mention of masturbation, angst  
> Challenge- None

He sat in the corner, growling at her as she made one of her visits. In his hands, he clutched a stinky pillow with stuffing pouring out of gashes in its side, like blood from a wound. She was a mere human. If he really wanted to, he could jump on her, take what he wanted, then tear her apart. But he just sat there, like a punished child, staring at her with angry eyes that glowed with an unnatural golden light.  
The visits were generally the same. She would leave him his breakfast. Or lunch. Perhaps dinner. Then she’d tidy up the room that was currently his whole world. She would put recently cleaned blankets back on the mattress with a hole ripped in it. She would clean up the mess he left in the bathroom- urine, waste, and unrestrained fury. All the towels and blankets that he tore up and used to relieve his sexual needs were dumped by the door, on their way to the washing machine or- worst case scenario- the trash.  
Every time, she would ask how he was feeling. Sometimes, she’d beg for him to speak, or at least do something other than eat, have tantrums and hump whatever he wanted like some kind of feral dog. She would never receive an answer, other than a golden glare and pupils slit with fury. Sometimes, he’d hug the pillow more tightly when she spoke. The pillow reeked. The whole room reeked, despite her frequent cleanups.  
Eventually, she’d give up and leave. She would lock the door behind her, and he’d tear up the new blankets, rip fresh holes in the mattress and roar so loud that most sane people wouldn’t dare approach him. He’d rampage until he became hungry enough to eat or horny enough to attend to his needs, which rewarded passerby with blessed silence.  
She was his only visitor. She cared for him and kept him alive and well. It was her fault he was like this to begin with.  
==========================  
Once upon a time, he could speak. He had a name- Issei- that was now confined to quiet pleas he couldn’t understand. But he still had problems that she couldn’t help him with. She heard he was perverted going in, of course. His whole kind was. She heard the horror stories- two Issei killing each other over sex, the throats torn out for the privilege of being with a girl, the general bloodshed they left in their wake. But she decided not to listen.  
For she also knew that there was more to him than the hushed whispers she heard from other humans. She heard of courage and kindness and self-loathing. She heard of a person with more to him than a sex drive. This seduced her into finding her own Issei.  
It was a great mistake.  
As a human, she had a lot of power over Issei, what with him being a fictional character. She had lots of authority over him by law. But she only used that power sparingly, with the intention of preventing him from hurting himself or others. Yet, perhaps she over-stepped that line multiple times.  
They started out getting in verbal screaming matches that lasted for long expanses. These were all the same. Issei would try to touch her in a way that was inappropriate. She would admonish him. He would complain because there were no other girls around and he had to express his sexuality somehow. She would remind him that a thing called “consent” existed. He would snap back that he was desperate and she was repressing him. On and on it went in a circle- him crying out for sexual freedom and her countering that he had to keep his hands to himself.  
She tried to accommodate Issei’s desires when it was appropriate to do so, in so much as she let him clear them away in private, without her around. There was no way to eradicate his perverted side without changing who he was, and she didn’t want to do that do him. Still, that side drove him. He was violent around other characters- mostly other Issei- especially when girls were involved. Yet, he could still feel guilt after the fact. Emotions were his to command.  
Now? He only felt lust and anger, anger and lust.  
But in the past, there was a person to reconcile with. She understood his upbringing was cruel. Dealers raised him from a young age, multiplying and strengthening his perversions. They wanted nothing more than a literal sex machine, incapable of feeling love, or even understanding it didn’t have to be sexual. So she wanted to teach him that “love” was not what the Dealers said it was. Sadly, he would make some progress, then slip back into madness- trying to touch her, complaining that he was suppressed.  
Eventually, it came to a head. It all began one night. Issei came into her room, tears in his eyes. He said he was very lonely, and wanted the companionship of a female character (or two or several) to make him feel better. He genuinely wanted to try this whole “love” thing she frequently preached, but he couldn’t do it by himself. She offered to help him any way she could, for he seemed to be in a lot of pain. Though she personally didn’t like his perverted side and worried about how he might interact with a potential mate, she couldn’t let him suffer in silence.  
The next morning, what started out innocently went sour. She searched high and low on the Internet for a character who was compatible- one who would accept but not feed his perverted side. She came up empty. Well, that wasn’t accurate. She did find a few characters that might work, but all were seductresses- beings of equal or greater perversion. Even the candidates from his own world were either incompatible or carried that forbidden danger. She chose to report that she found no-one, and, when she gave Issei the news, he was enraged. They fought longer and louder than usual. Eventually- heated by the argument- she told Issei to leave.  
He did, and she cried late into the night.  
When she found him again, he wasn’t himself, and never would be again. The Dealers found him once more, and he went with them of his own free will. They drained all rationality from his mind. He could no longer speak or even want to think rationally anymore. Lust and anger was all that remained. She found him again by chance, and stole him back. Since then, he remained locked up. As she moved from place to place, his prison changed. But his behavior was the same.  
She blamed herself for it all. Her views on sex were very conservative compared to his, and she originally brought him into the fold for his supposed other traits. Towards the beginning, he’d give her hints that there was something more to him every so often. She tried and follow them, only to hit a wall when he became sexually frustrated. Even now, she still stubbornly believed he was more than a pervert who turned bloodthirsty every so often.  
If only she never told Issei to go. If only she searched more for a potential girlfriend for him. Then maybe he would have achieved happiness and she would have seen his kinder side. Everybody would have won. Now, she was his sole caretaker, cleaning up after his fits of frustration.  
He must have been awfully lonely. At least she deluded herself into thinking he was. “Lonely” was too human a concept. The emotion wasn’t driving his fits. Instead, he was driven solely by furious, animal need.  
It was all because of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I seriously need to write a happy drabble one of these days.


	5. To Be Converted (Pokemon, Teen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating- Teen  
> Fandom- Pokemon  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Corruption, rape (not detailed), gang-rape (not shown), sibling incest/selfcest (not detailed), horror/suspense, a little angst, bleak but hopeful ending, a bit long to be a drabble but oh well  
> Challenge- No dialogue  
> Note- I rated this "Teen" because the bad stuff is implied and brief. Just read the tags to make sure it's fine and all.   
> This is a sequel to the drabble “To Be Corrupted”, which can be found in the second chapter. Also- “kit” = character under a year old, and basically a child. “Egg” = the initial state of a character born from sex (i.e.- not a lab, which is where first-generation characters are born). In this universe, a character fetus gets corrupted if it stays in the mother due to (temporarily) unsafe/lust-corrupted conditions, and would be born as a tapeworm-like monster if not for the egg system. Despite this lore, there is no mention of oviposition/egg creation in this story.  
> …Look, a lot of this was made in, like, 2010, and I haven’t changed it.

It all happened so fast.

Michael was alone now, because those closest to him decided to abandon him. Granted, one of them didn’t exactly do so because he wanted to. But this didn’t change the fact they were gone.

It all started after that battle in the rainy desert. The two Wes- his protectors and elder brothers- started fighting a lot. Michael would pretend not to hear it late at night, when the Espeon-earred sibling assumed he was asleep. Yet, his own ears missed no scream, no counter-argument, no exchange of attacks. He would wake up tired the next morning, but smile cheerfully, because nothing was wrong in their little family.

Michael never knew a life outside of traveling with the Wes siblings. They told him that some characters come from eggs, and that his egg rolled off a truck. The Umbreon sibling was lucky enough to catch it. When Michael was eventually born, he was Feral, rubbing himself against the ground and snarling aggressively at both siblings to make them go away and leave him to it. Both siblings never saw a Feral kit before- they heard it could happen if two Feral characters had kits- but raised him nonetheless. Michael was no longer Feral thanks to their kindness.

But now the tables were turned. Ever since that stupid battle, the Umbreon-earred sibling was curious about lust. He wanted to become Feral himself, just to see what it felt like. His sibling refused to go with him despite being invited to multiple times. They got in spats that would inevitably turn physical. Michael would curl up under the covers- thin, near-useless blankets- and try to tune them out. It never worked.

One morning, he awoke to find the Umbreon-earred sibling was gone. He tried to ask the remaining Wes about it, but he was told what he already knew- the other Wes left, he wasn’t coming back, now stop asking questions and eat because we have to leave. Michael chewed on a piece of toast and said nothing more.

A few nights of blissful peacefulness passed. Michael would watch his elder brother pace around nervously before falling asleep. Now, it was Wes who was tired in the morning. Michael knew the signs, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew bringing up the Wes who left would be a stupid idea.

Nothing was wrong at all in their family of two.

One night, Michael was woken rather abruptly by shouting. He was about to hide under the blankets but then saw the long, familiar ears of his Umbreon brother. Unfortunately, they also came with glowing, red eyes. It was obvious he turned Feral at some point during his absence. Even worse, he wasn’t alone. Michael could make out several winged figures near him, all of which were Feral and taller than himself.

His Espeon brother was screaming at the mob to go away, to leave Michael alone. His Umbreon brother did not care. He simply dropped his pants and grabbed his brother’s head with surprising strength, pulling the other Wes to his knees. His Espeon-earred brother- his last caretaker- glanced silently at him, his eyes conveying all Michael needed to know.

Run.

And run he did, though it was more like crawling. He shuffled out of the blankets and snuck away on his belly, trying not to draw the attention of the mob. His breath stuck in his throat. He feared a breath or heartbeat would be easily detected, and then the mob would be upon him. Behind him, he heard desperate spluttering turn to something else- something alien and gross. A deep sigh filled the air.

Run.

The mob shuffled. One of them howled like a rabid wolf. Michael heard his Umbreon brother say something, but it was inaudible, like a cruel whisper. Michael kept slithering away at a snail’s pace. His belly hurt from the extra force placed upon it, and the roughness of the ground wasn’t helping. But Michael would be damned if he stuck around. He didn’t want to be Feral again. He was told he couldn’t be Feral more than once, but was that really true?

Run.

Was he far enough away? Michael turned around to see the mob descend on his Espeon-earred brother. They didn’t even know he existed. He forced himself to stand and crept off on his own two feet, figuring they were too busy to notice him. A pair of red eyes looked in his general direction, gleaming with malevolent intent.

Run.

Michael took off in a full-blown run, afraid that the Feral character would pursue him. But it never happened. The Feral character just guffawed and turned his attention to the ground. There was a brick building off in the distance- run-down, abandoned, and hopefully available as a hiding spot. Another group of wild characters could have made a home out of it, but- if Michael explained his situation- he was sure they’d let him stay for a bit.

Run. Hide.

Michael dashed into the building, the door to which was unlocked. He ran through the door and locked it. The grunts of pleasure behind him receded, turning into a barely audible, tempting murmur. Michael looked around, seeing no-one. He spread his wings, using his ability to link. If his eyes couldn’t detect the presence of other characters, his feathers would be able to do so. Fortunately, they found nothing- not even the weak signal given off by humans. The building was truly empty.

He was safe, but for how long?

Michael peered through the keyhole. The Feral characters were just a dark blob now, their red eyes occasionally shining like malevolent fireflies. Like an amoeba, two of them split off the mass and made their way towards Michael’s hiding spot. The boy’s breath caught in his throat, and he disappeared further into the bowels of the building.

Run. Hide.

Michael ruled out the roof as a hiding spot right away. The Feral characters could easily see him and fly up there. He didn’t want to be trapped in a room somewhere. But the basement might have an extra door leading out, if they found him. He saw them before on other buildings- twin doors leading down into unfathomable darkness. If he was in that darkness with a rabid Feral or two, he could use the doors to escape. Granted, he wasn’t sure if this building had those kind of doors, but it was better than nothing.

Michael rushed to the lowest floor and found it was dark as pitch. He felt around, not daring to turn the light on because he feared it would attract attention. There were no doors leading out, but there was a door that led to a room with a large, rusty object half-hidden by darkness. It probably used to be a boiler room. Michael hid inside this room, closed the door behind him, panicked a bit when it squeaked, then noticed the remains of an exit sign in the distance. The red light was no longer active, but the surface was shiny enough to make out. However, the door had a single, small window, which let in moonlight and risked revealing Michael.

Desperately, Michael searched and found a large black panel on the floor. He went in the general direction of the exit door and propped it up against the window. That didn’t seem to satisfy him, so he felt around for a lock and clicked it shut. Leaning against the door, he held his breath and stared in the direction of the unlocked door that led back to the basement. Someone could come in at any time. He dove behind the long-dead boiler. Yes, perfect. Now he was totally safe.

Right?

Time ticked by slowly. Michael didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He was afraid someone would tear one of the doors off its hinges. He heard of characters who possessed magic weapons that could undo any lock. Was one of them in the crowd? At one point, the locked door rattled, and Michael stifled a scream. It rattled again, but- with a grunt of annoyance, the perpetrator gave up and left. 

Michael curled in a tiny ball on the floor and sobbed. He started to cry from sheer terror, forcing himself to stay as silent as possible. Yet, he couldn’t stop the tears. His brothers were gone, and his own life was in peril. If he couldn’t be made Feral again, what would the Feral mob do? Would they kill him? Shadows moved in the room, but none of them proved to be enemies. Occasionally, he’d use his wings to feel out the room, but they never returned a signal.

He was alone. Totally alone.

Morning soon arrived. Rays of sunshine crept under the locked door. Michael made his way over, wiped the tears away, and removed the dark panel. He squinted at the sudden intrusion of light, then looked around to find no-one. Unlocking the door, he snuck out of the building. The mob was- fortunately- gone. There was no-one present outside.

Not even his brothers.

This is how Michael ended up alone, without the brothers who looked after him. It was only a few days later- after he had time to process this fact- that he knew what he had to do. He had to find them, free them from the Feral mob, and help them like they helped him all those moons ago. Sure, he was alone, and he was weak, but his mind was made up. Michael would not rest until his siblings were free and not Feral anymore.

Then, they could be a family again.


	6. Waiting for Master (Tales of Symphonia II, Gen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story was fun. 
> 
> I found some old stories from the 8th grade, and I believe this was originally about an unnamed individual in an early version of the Those with Wings AU. I’m going to name that person (as Emil Castagnier from Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World). It was a school project meant to cover the five senses, but only hit three, so I’m rectifying that, too. My 8th grade self could not write or follow directions, man.
> 
> I'm serious though- she could not write crap.
> 
> The original included the following paragraph- "There was the blackness. The darkness is deep and eternal like death itself. There is no sound in the night except the occasional howl of the wind, no moon, no stars. Just blackness, like a raven’s wing, and no way to light up this blackness. I lay there, curled up in a ball to hold in whatever warmth I could, for so long, it felt like I was in a casket, no, in my grave, miles under the earth." And so it was edited (read: totally redone) and put in a document entitled "Saving Private Urple", because that prose is just beyond purple. It's still angsty AF, but not purpley anymore. I hope.
> 
> (Also- this was probably influenced on some level by Ash's Charizard's origin story, but ehhhhhh.)
> 
> Rating- Gen  
> Fandom- Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Dysfunctional relationship, abandonment, poor self-esteem, mentions of verbal abuse  
> Challenge- Use all five senses in descriptions

Master told me to wait.

I don’t know how long I was sitting in this dark alleyway, waiting for him to come back. It smells like garbage here, and it’s really strong. I always end up hiding behind the dumpster even though it stinks so much. I do this whenever the garbageman comes. That way, I’m not mistaken for garbage and thrown away. I heard that can happen sometimes, to characters who aren’t careful.

The rest of the time, I’m right at the mouth of the alleyway, and there I wait, but no-one seems to notice. They probably know Master is giving me a test to prove my loyalty and courage. It’s probably just normal.

It’s winter now, or at least I think so. I lost track of time a while back. It started snowing recently, and cold winds keep waking me up, preventing me from sleeping properly. I’ve never slept outside in my life, but it’s cold and uncomfortable. At least the snow is kind of pretty to look at, even though it’s starting to cover me.

I’m not sure how much time has passed since Master told me, “Emil, you wait here. I’m going to buy something from the store.” But I’m going to wait for him, anyway.

It’s night out, and totally dark save for a couple of streetlights. There’s no moon or stars in the sky- just murky, ugly clouds. The streetlights are far from me, and it’s just blackness otherwise. I want to go to them- just to be close to the light. But Master will be mad if I don’t wait for him. He’s always mad at me for some reason or another, so maybe this will make things right.

The wind comes back and blows down my neck, taunting me with its cold. But I can take it, and the snow that seeps into my clothes, and the dumpster that reeks of all sorts of things people don’t want. Master told me to wait, and wait I shall.

He’ll come back any minute now.

My stomach rumbles, and my mouth feels dry. I haven’t eaten anything in a long while, because eating would involve me getting up and moving from this spot. I take that risk when the garbage truck comes by, but I know Master will never be aware of that. All he’ll know is I was very good and waited for him.

A pack of other characters passes by- rowdy and laughing. I cower in fear. They’re probably wild, and wild characters just do a lot of damage. At least, that’s what Master told me, along with every human I’ve ever met. Certainly, they can’t all be wrong? One shoves at another playfully, but roughly. I hold my breath. I don’t want them to notice me.

Soon, the pack leaves, and it sets in that I was a coward. That’s what Master called me, constantly- a coward. That’s how I ended up in this situation to begin with. If I was brave and strong to start with, I could have fought the pack. But I wouldn’t be here anyway if I was. If I wasn’t- as Master’s friends called me- a whiny little bitch, then I wouldn’t be waiting in this alleyway. But I’m not going to give up. I’ll prove them all wrong. 

My mouth is so dry, and I need water. So I do what I’ve been doing since the snow first fell- swallow the snow in front of me. It’s chunky, and I have to chew it a bit before it melts into water. But it does the trick, and I feel a bit better. Master would be so proud, if only he knew how resourceful I was!

The streetlights suddenly dimmed, then went out. Was that a power outage? Why would the lights go out? Was it because of all the snow we’d been having? 

Would Master be able to find me in the dark?

I see something moving in the shadows. Is that a hallucination, or a person? I squint, and it appears to be the size of a grown man. Master! Maybe if I cry out for him, he’ll see me, and this will all be over. But he never liked my voice, and I don’t want to anger him somehow. So I stay quiet and track him with my eyes. He darts back and forth for a bit, takes out his cell phone, lights up the night with a pale blue glow. But I can’t see him well. He laughs at something on his phone- deep and hearty.

That is not Master’s laugh. Master never really laughs at all. That person, then, is not my Master.

When the lights come on as suddenly as they went off, I can see the man. Though I squint for a bit from the bright lights, I can make out a curly brown beard that Master doesn’t have. The bearded man looks in my direction, but then ignores me like everyone else and walks away.

I sigh and nestle into the snow. It’s soft, but cold. I’m grateful for the street lamps and their gentle light coming back. At least they are there for me, even though no-one else is. 

A part of me deep inside knows that Master isn’t going to come tonight. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll come back tomorrow. 


	7. Wakin' Up My Mind as I Throw a Fit (Pokemon, Teen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating- Teen (for one f bomb and the use of the word “slut”- otherwise Gen)  
> Fandom- Pokemon  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Kind of ventfic, mentions of transformation and mind control, mentions of unwilling genderswap/crossdressing/genderplay, can be read as misogynist but that is not the intention, character study elements, quick little ficlet that probably has errors  
> Note- This one was inspired by a fic written by MirageSand, in which Luffy from One Piece is turned into a woman, but can't exactly remember how, or what kind of woman the transformer meant to create. But this story goes in a totally, completely, and utterly different direction. The title comes from the Adam Lambert song "Runnin". Also, is it ventfic if your head!Ash is venting? I don’t know.  
> Disclaimer- This is not meant to be anti-girl or anti-woman (I am a woman), but anti-OOC. I still put a warning for that since it can potentially be read that way. Character is not author, blah blah.

The cool thing about being summoned to reality when you used to be a Pokemon Trainer was that you were given your ace Pokemon’s powers. It was a kind of compensation for everything else being kind of sucky. Those who trained fiery beasts like Charizard became living flamethrowers. Water-type specialists could breathe underwater. If you cherished your Rattata enough, you would get its meager abilities when you crossed over.

Ash had always loved his Pikachu above all his other Pokemon, and so he was gifted with the power to control electricity and super speed. He quickly became the swiftest in his pack. No-one could match him when he ran at full power. Even cars going at twenty-five miles per hour were left in the dust. He could keep up with faster vehicles, too, but that required extreme extortion that would leave him tired and dizzy.

Today, he was running through the woods and shooting off the occasional Thunderbolt attack into the sky, because he was peeved. His wings- white with bold yellow tips and spots- were the source of the electricity. His tail- Pikachu-shaped, of course- whipped around trying to swat at his demons like they were just flies. He was about a decade older than the other Ash who lived in the world thanks to past tampering, but he got it lucky compared to his younger cousins.

One hundred and twelve. That was the number of other Ash that went missing over the past couple of weeks. He went out alone to do some detective work, only to find out two things. They were all alive, in the technical sense. But none of them were the same, their bodies and minds warped to something else. It seemed each one received a unique, yet similar punishment that irritated Ash to no end.

How many times did he- in canon- don the soft dresses that his “fans” were obsessed with? The answer was five- only five times out of over one thousand episodes. Ash was sure there was some number or percentage that would make this look even more pitiful, but he was never one for math.

Yet the “fans”- could they really be called that, if they couldn’t love him for who he was?- had hundreds if not thousands of feminine punishments in mind for any Ash they found. Ash had to give them points for concocting the sheer number of methods, but still. From merely stuffing other Ash in dresses to giving them feminine bodies and everything in between, there was no end to their lunacy. Every time the well of ideas ran low, someone would think of a new plan.

They had a million roads to the same destination, and all of them were riddled with pretty pink thorns.

Ash couldn’t help but fire off blast after blast of electricity out of aggravation. It was night, he was in a secluded part of the forest, and no-one was out there telling him to dress in lace or change entire portions of his personality. Here, he reasoned, he could send up one golden flare for each stupid idea he ever saw, and no-one would tell him “no”.

Some of the morons re-used the classic “Ashley” design from over twenty years ago, faithfully recreating an episode that should have just featured a gym battle. Some of them turned Ash into a female Pokemon- some regular, some in “anthro” forms that possessed more human-like feminine wiles. Some of them turned Ash into copies of other female characters. Some turned to stock character types- the goth girl, the Barbie doll, the slut. Yes, this Ash knew what a “slut” was. It wasn’t just due to his older age, but because he’d seen the stereotype enough times to know.

There were so many different ways to get the job done, too. There were magic potions, weird trinkets found on the ground, karmic punishments for arrogance or stupidity, and even Pokemon abilities modified for this specific purpose. Some maid that once was an Ash just like him might have found a cursed dress in a haunted mansion. A kimono-donning Ash might have pushed Erika- whose assistants played no small part in the craze- a bit too far, leading him to do time in her gym while crossdressing. Team Rocket could have used a third Ash in an experiment, turning him into a Pokemon with feminine anatomy no Pokemon actually had. Then a fourth victim- a drag queen- could be victim of some random “wild” Hypno that Ash knew was just as much a victim as the fallen Trainer.

Sometimes, fans paid other fans to seek and destroy, sending them out to convert any Ash they grabbed in exchange for money. This was such a big, booming business that it was causing the Ash who hadn’t been effected to behave fearfully. What happened to the world being a blank canvas full of excitement and adventure? Terror of the ills of feminization forced many other Ash to hide from everything. How annoying was that! It was an obstacle that prevented traveling across the land and searching far and wide for Pokemon companions!

But the worst offense by far- no matter the method or result- was what they did to the brain. A good chunk of these “fans” removed an Ash’s will to travel at best. Many were given replacement teams of Pokemon. Some of them replaced a love of Pokemon with a love of finding a husband (and it was always a husband, not a wife, though a lot of women performed the actual makeovers). These unfortunate souls weren’t even Ash anymore. 

What had he said? What had he fucking said to Misty in that episode all those years ago? The words ran through his brain like clothes in the washing machine- spinning eternally. A Pokemon’s outside didn’t matter as much as the power that lay within. Didn’t that apply to people, too? Well, sure, he was talking about fictional people pulled into reality with no human rights, but still people nonetheless.

Other characters always told him to “chill out”, that he was too obsessed with the craze and it was making him go insane. But his blood boiled too much. It kept him up at night just thinking of the adventurous spirits of other Ash being stripped from them for no apparent reason. He wished he knew the reason, even though he knew deep down it was a stupid one that would make him angrier than a pack of Primeape. 

Thunderbolt after Thunderbolt flew into the sky like fireworks as Ash darted between the trees. He ran like he was being pursued, and used his attack like his “pursuer” was hot on his heels. Weird plastic surgery? Suspicious salon? Secret and non-existent desire to suddenly trade PokeBalls for painted nails and the battlefield for the beauty parlor? All of them were his targets, his ghosts, his demons. They screamed in his ears all at once as he zapped wildly at them, and he couldn’t tell which was which. What was the difference between the magic ray gun that turned you into a girl and the sweet but senile old woman who just wanted a daughter? A million stories wove together into one narrative that Ash kept shooting at, over and over, screaming at nothing.

Nothing, of course, was really there. 

Eventually, his legs burned, the muscles clenching as he fell to the forest floor. Ash gasped like a fish out of water, his breathing ragged. He tried to unleash another Thunderbolt- just to stick it to the man- but no electricity came. He was officially out of juice. For a brief second, his heart dropped, and he waited for the end to come. But then he recalled that he was never in real danger throughout the chase. Those stories, those hauntings, those things that changed the bodies and minds of every Ash other than him? They didn’t share the forest with him that night.

Ash blinked as the night gave way to morning. He craned his head up to watch the sun slowly rise over the horizon. Some bird launched itself from the trees, passing the rising sun for a moment. It looked like Ho-Oh for that brief second. Ash smiled weakly at the thought. He felt innocent again, and the world was his oyster.

Eventually, he’d have to get back up and go through the whole runaround all over again. Perhaps tomorrow night, he’d be back out here pursued by nothing, furiously sending bolts of lightning up to the heavens. But that was just background noise right now. The forest glowed with the arrival of a new day. Somewhere, a cricket chirped one last time before retiring for the night. The bushes rustled, and Ash pretended a Pokemon was inside.

Ash lay there, closing his eyes and recovering from the intensity of his run. He’d eventually get up and go back home. But that would come later, when the forest had no other little adventures to offer him.


	8. A Nightly Run (Pokemon, Teen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating- Teen (for one f bomb and the use of the word “slut”, really)  
> Fandom- Pokemon  
> Warnings for this Chapter- Kind of ventfic, mentions of transformation and mind control, mentions of unwilling genderswap/crossdressing/genderplay, can be read as misogynist but that is not the intention, quick little ficlet that probably has errors  
> Note- This one was inspired by a fic written by MirageSand. But this story goes in a totally, completely, and utterly different direction. Also, is it ventfic if your head!Ash is venting? I don’t know.  
> Disclaimer- This is not meant to be anti-girl/woman/female/etc, but anti-OOC. I still put a warning for that since it can be read that way. Character is not author, blah blah.

The cool thing about being summoned to reality when you used to be a Pokemon Trainer was that you were given your ace Pokemon’s powers. It was a kind of compensation for everything else being kind of sucky. Those who trained fiery beasts like Charizard became living flamethrowers. Water-type specialists could breathe underwater. If you cherished your Rattata enough, you would get its meager abilities when you crossed over.

Ash had always loved his Pikachu above all his other Pokemon, and so he was gifted with the power to control electricity and super speed. He quickly became the swiftest in his pack. No-one could match him when he ran at full power. Even cars going at twenty-five miles per hour were left in the dust. He could keep up with faster vehicles, too, but that required extreme extortion that would leave him tired and dizzy.

Today, he was running through the woods and shooting off the occasional Thunderbolt attack into the sky, because he was peeved. His wings- white with bold yellow tips and spots- were the source of the electricity. His tail- Pikachu-shaped, of course- whipped around trying to swat at his demons like they were just flies. He was about a decade older than the other Ash who lived in the world thanks to past tampering that put his eternal childhood to a rude end. But he got it lucky compared to his younger cousins.

One hundred and twelve. That was the number of other Ash that went missing over the past couple of weeks. He went out alone to do some detective work, only to find out two things. They were all alive, in the technical sense. But none of them were the same, their bodies and minds warped to something else. It seemed each one received a unique, yet similar punishment that irritated Ash to no end.

How many times did he- in canon- don the soft dresses that his “fans” were obsessed with? The answer was five- only five times out of over one thousand episodes. Ash was sure there was some number or percentage that would make this look even more pitiful, but he was never one for math.

Yet the “fans”- could they really be called that, if they couldn’t love him for who he was?- had hundreds if not thousands of feminine punishments in mind for any Ash they found. Ash had to give them points for concocting the sheer number of methods, but still. From merely stuffing other Ash in dresses to giving them feminine bodies and everything in between, there was no end to their lunacy. Every time the well of ideas ran low, someone would think of a new plan.

They had a million roads to the same destination, and all of them were riddled with pretty pink thorns.

Ash couldn’t help but fire off blast after blast of electricity out of aggravation. It was night, he was in a secluded part of the forest, and no-one was out there telling him to dress in lace or change entire portions of his personality. Here, he reasoned, he could send up one golden flare for each stupid idea he ever saw, and no-one would tell him “no”.

Some of the morons re-used the classic “Ashley” design from over twenty years ago, faithfully recreating an episode that should have just featured a gym battle. Some of them turned Ash into a female Pokemon- some regular, some in “anthro” forms that possessed more human-like feminine wiles. Some of them turned Ash into copies of other female characters. Some turned to stock character types- the goth girl, the Barbie doll, the slut. Yes, this Ash knew what a “slut” was. It wasn’t just due to his older age, but because he’d seen the stereotype enough times to know.

There were so many different ways to get the job done, too. There were magic potions, weird trinkets found on the ground, karmic punishments for arrogance or stupidity, and even Pokemon abilities modified for this specific purpose. Some maid that once was an Ash just like him might have found a cursed dress in a haunted mansion. A kimono-donning Ash might have pushed Erika- whose assistants played no small part in the craze- a bit too far, leading him to do time in her gym while crossdressing. Team Rocket could have used a third Ash in an experiment, turning him into a Pokemon with feminine anatomy no Pokemon actually had. Then a fourth victim- a drag queen- could be victim of some random “wild” Hypno that Ash knew was just as much a victim as the fallen Trainer.

Sometimes, fans paid other fans to seek and destroy, sending them out to convert any Ash they grabbed in exchange for money. This was such a big, booming business that it was causing the Ash who hadn’t been effected to behave fearfully. What happened to the world being a blank canvas full of excitement and adventure? Terror of the ills of feminization forced many other Ash to hide from everything. How annoying was that? It was an obstacle that prevented traveling across the land and searching far and wide for Pokemon companions!

But the worst offense by far- no matter the method or result- was what these “fans” did to the brains of their quarry. A good chunk of them removed an Ash’s will to travel at best. Many were given replacement teams of Pokemon. Some of them replaced a love of Pokemon with a love of finding a husband (and it was always a husband, not a wife, though a lot of women performed the actual makeovers). These unfortunate souls weren’t even Ash anymore. 

What had he said? What had he fucking said to Misty in that episode all those years ago? The words ran through his brain like clothes in the washing machine- spinning eternally. A Pokemon’s outside didn’t matter as much as the power that lay within. Didn’t that apply to people, too? Well, sure, he was talking about fictional people pulled into reality with no human rights, but still people nonetheless.

Other characters always told him to “chill out”, that he was too obsessed with the craze and it was making him go insane. But his blood boiled too much. It kept him up at night just thinking of the adventurous spirits of other Ash being stripped from them for no apparent reason. He wished he knew the reason, even though he knew deep down it was a stupid one that would make him angrier than a pack of Primeape. 

Thunderbolt after Thunderbolt flew into the sky like fireworks as Ash darted between the trees. He ran like he was being pursued, and used his attack like his “pursuer” was hot on his heels. Weird plastic surgery? Suspicious salon? Secret and non-existent desire to suddenly trade PokeBalls for painted nails and the battlefield for the beauty parlor? All of them were his targets, his ghosts, his demons. They screamed in his ears all at once as he zapped wildly at them, and he couldn’t tell which was which. What was the difference between the magic ray gun that turned you into a girl and the sweet but senile old woman who just wanted a daughter? A million stories wove together into one narrative that Ash kept shooting at, over and over, screaming at nothing.

Nothing, of course, was really there. 

Eventually, his legs burned, the muscles clenching as he fell to the forest floor. Ash gasped like a fish out of water, his breathing ragged. He tried to unleash another Thunderbolt- just to stick it to the man- but no electricity came. He was officially out of juice. For a brief second, his heart dropped, and he waited for the end to come. But then he recalled that he was never in real danger throughout the chase. Those stories, those hauntings, those things that changed the bodies and minds of every Ash other than him? They didn’t share the forest with him that night.

Ash blinked as the night gave way to morning. He craned his head up to watch the sun slowly rise over the horizon. Some bird launched itself from the trees, passing the rising sun for a moment. It looked like Ho-Oh for that brief second. Ash smiled weakly at the thought. He felt innocent again, and the world was his oyster.

Eventually, he’d have to get back up and go through the whole runaround all over again. Perhaps tomorrow night, he’d be back out here pursued by nothing, furiously sending bolts of lightning up to the heavens. But that was just background noise right now. The forest glowed with the arrival of a new day. Somewhere, a cricket chirped one last time before retiring for the night. The bushes rustled, and Ash pretended a Pokemon was inside.

Ash lay there, closing his eyes and recovering from the intensity of his run. He’d eventually get up and go back home. But that would come later, when the forest had no other little adventures to offer him.


End file.
